I had my chance and I blew it.
Email. She could send him a message anytime, and he could read it whenever he liked. She wouldn’t wake him or interrupt him.
Although she made it home in record time, the server must have been overloaded with Christmas missives because she couldn’t get her Internet to work. She stared at the problem loading page in frustration, then reset her modem three times before finally giving up. She couldn’t call him, nor could she send an email. She could try again in the morning, but in the meantime, how on earth could she possibly sleep?
Beyond that, what time should she call? Was eight too early? If she called while he was still in bed with that other woman, she’d go into a decline from which she might never recover. If she waited until ten, he might not be home—might already be out searching for other sex and chocolate lovers to spend the day with.
Unless it was a cell number, in which case he could be anywhere. He might even be in a movie theater where you were supposed to turn them off.
Timing is everything.
She sat staring at the blinking cursor, only then realizing why she hadn’t found the napkin before. She’d stuck it in the pocket of her fleece jacket. The weather had turned colder, and she’d been wearing her other coat ever since. She must’ve pulled it out along with her gloves.
Mother Nature was such a cruel bitch. Had the weather remained mild, she would’ve found his number immediately. On the other hand, if it hadn’t been for this one warm day, she might not have found it until spring.
A chilling thought. He would have forgotten all about her by then. For that matter, she might have come across the napkin with no clear memory of who he was. She might have been looped out on antidepressants, every trace of him wiped from her memory.
Christmas was on Thursday. She had six whole days to buy him a gift. No problems there since she’d already picked out at least a dozen things for him. The trick would be deciding which ones.
Chocolate was a given. New gloves to match his coat. A muffler to match his blue eyes—the color of a wintry sky. Even if she never saw him again, surely she’d remember that much.
She went to bed, still puzzling over how to find him, when to call him, or if she should give the Internet another try.
Nine, she finally decided. She would call him at nine. Not too early, not too late. Nine...
* * * *
Having lain awake half the night, Emily woke up at eleven, kicking herself for not setting an alarm.
No one answered when she dialed the number, nor did an answering machine offer to take a message. Who didn’t have an answering machine in this day and age? Every phone you bought had one built right into it.
Unless it was a cell number.
No, you get that little recording thing on cell phones.
She called back thinking he might have his machine set for a really long ring. After letting it ring at least twenty times, she was forced to admit that he wasn’t home and his machine was not going to pick up.
In a way, it made her mad. Alan had practically begged her to call him. Why wasn’t he sitting at home waiting for the phone to ring?
The answer was simple. He’d given up—unless he was out there somewhere searching for her. Which was stupid, because if he had any sense at all, he’d have gone to Bennie’s, just as she had done.
Evidently, he didn’t want her and was now regretting the impulse to even speak to her, let alone give her his phone number. If he’d unplugged his phone it would ring and ring like he wasn’t there—something he might’ve done if he was sleeping with someone else and didn’t want to be disturbed.
She rolled out of bed. If she didn’t get her email up and running, she’d lose what was left of her mind.
After resetting the modem again, the damn thing actually worked. Now all she had to do was figure out what to write. Should she sound sexy, provocative, reluctant, or depressed? What would win him over and get him to reply? She had no idea. Quirky? Since he was sort of quirky himself, that approach might appeal to him.
“Dear Alan,” she would write. “Remember the depressed woman who shared your coat for a while? Well, her name is Emily, and she’s cold again. Please reply before she freezes to death.”
Nope, too cutesy and not nearly quirky enough.
Exuberant: “Hey, Alan Paul Ryan John! I’m an absolute idiot for letting you go! Please don’t hold it against me because I’ve looked for you everywhere! I lost the napkin and only found it again last night. Please reply ASAP. Love, Emily :)”
Sincere: “Dear Alan, I miss you dreadfully, and I’m so sorry to have left you that way. Please forgive me and write soon. Love, Emily.”
Dirty: “Hey, Alan. How’s that boner? Not gone yet, I hope, because I’d like to help you out with that. I’ve got at least three places you can put it—anytime you like. Got the hots for you! Emily :)”
Desperate: “Alan. I’ve been searching for you—and your phone number—everywhere! I found it last night, but I can’t find you. Where are you? Why don’t you answer your phone? I can’t live without you. All my love, Emily.”
Romantic: “My dearest Alan. I have been pining away for two weeks now. Alas, I find that I can no longer continue living without you by my side. You must call, or I shall surely die. Your loving Emily.”
Casual: “Hey, Alan, if you’re still interested, write back. If not, I guess I’ll just crash and burn somewhere. Later, Emily.”
Brief, but to the point: “Alan, Please write back. Emily.”
Honest and truthful: “Dear Alan, I lost your number and only found it again last night. I miss you, I need you, and I want you. I’m so sorry I left you. Please forgive me and write back. Love, Emily.”
Obscure: “Got ice cream?”
In the end, she went with the obscure, but truthfully romantic: “Dear Alan, I’ve tried, but ice cream just isn’t doing it for me. I need you. Love, Emily.”
Setting her jaw, she pushed “send.”
Message sent. Whoo hoo!
Emily ate breakfast then checked her email.
No reply.
She took a shower and checked again, but he hadn’t written back yet.
She tried wrapping presents—thus far, she’d only wrapped the one for Mitch, and she’d stuffed it in a gift bag—but checking her email every forty seconds wasn’t exactly conducive to getting much done.
No response.
After wrapping three gifts and having to open them again because she couldn’t remember who they were for, she gave up on that task and ate a late lunch before checking one more time…
Not even spam.
She cleaned the kitchen sink and looked at it again. This time there was a message from Glicka about a “Hot.... teene suxcking beeg ones...” She deleted it and then scrubbed the toilet.
After another quick check, she went to the grocery and bought some caramel nut fudge chocolate ice cream.
When Emily got home, she sat down in front of her laptop, eating right out of the box, clicking on the “Check Mail” icon after every third bite until she felt like she was going to puke. Then she tried calling him again. Still no answer.
Maybe Alan had gone to Russia for Christmas and was riding around on one of those peculiar Russian sleighs, pulled by an underfed horse like something out of Dr. Zhivago or Fiddler on the Roof.
Or he might have gone to Paris and was sipping a cafe au lait in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower while a choir sang “Silent Night” in French.
Germany would be a nice place to spend Christmas. After all, a German man had written “Silent Night.” If she remembered correctly, Germany was also responsible for the whole Christmas tree idea.
He could have gone anywhere and been doing anything—except watching a football game, which could be safely ruled out since he didn’t like football or any other sport. Although he might have been lying about that.
He could have lied about everything. She might’ve sent an email to some unknown person and been try
ing to call his uncle in Duluth or the Walmart in Dallas. No, it couldn’t have been Walmart, because they never close. They would have answered the phone. Unlike Alan. The twit. He knew he could safely give her those numbers, because he never answered his phone or his email.
Checking the napkin for the fiftieth time, she verified the digits once more and dialed the number again, letting it ring twenty-five times before hanging up. Then she did it again. She checked her email once more, promising herself a truly genuine suicide attempt if she failed to receive anything this time, and found a message from Amazon.com promising her free shipping if she ordered before Christmas. They probably had no idea they’d saved her life when they sent it. Then again, if she had to spend another day like this one, she might wish they’d deleted her from their mailing list.
Emily buffed her nails with the kit she’d purchased from the Israeli man in the mall. She could go see him—he’d written his name on the receipt—but he’d probably gone back to Israel. Alan was probably there, too. A trip to Bethlehem for Christmas made perfect sense.
Unless there was unrest in the Middle East. There usually was. Since she hadn’t exactly been keeping up with current events, she didn’t know.
In desperation, she called Todd, who at least had an answering machine, and told him she was looking for a man named Alan, and if he knew of anyone by that name, to bring him over to her house, pronto.
About an hour later, Todd showed up on her doorstep with Alan.
Her Alan.
Chapter 7
This was definitely the same Alan—three-day beard, tousled hair, slate blue eyes, luscious lips, and all—right down to the leather jacket.
“You two know each other?” she asked.
“Yep,” Todd replied. “He lives across the hall from me. You said if I knew anyone named Alan to bring him over, so I did. Why is that so surprising?”
“Because he’s the right Alan.” She gazed at Alan, still not quite believing her eyes. Finding that napkin was akin to discovering a treasure map. He was the treasure. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
“If I’d known you wanted him, I could have brought him over a long time ago.”
Todd said it so casually, Emily wanted to slap him—or hug him. One thing for sure, he would get more than a pizza oven for Christmas. The moon might be enough…
Alan hadn’t said a word. He simply stood there wearing an expression so blank he might never have seen her before.
Her heart sank to her toes. “You don’t remember me, do you?”
“Oh, he remembers you, all right,” Todd said. “He’s been moping around for weeks because he met this terrific woman who never called him. Too bad you didn’t tell him your name.”
“I–I lost the napkin,” she said, still staring at Alan’s impassive face. “It was in my fleece jacket. I’ve been wearing my other coat since then because it’s been so cold. I sent you an email this morning. I’ve been calling you all day.”
Scowling at Todd, Alan finally spoke. “And you said it would do me good to get out.”
Emily’s throat tightened. He really didn’t want to see her, and he was pissed at Todd for bringing him to her house. At that point, screaming seemed a viable option.
“I was right, too,” Todd insisted. “We went to lunch and a basketball game and had a great time.”
Despite her despair, Emily couldn’t help seeing the humor. “You took Alan to a basketball game?”
“Well, yeah,” Todd replied. “I had tickets—student discount, you know—and at the last minute, Staci had to work and couldn’t go with me, so I asked Alan.”
“But he doesn’t even like sports.”
Todd grinned. “Trust me, I heard all about it.”
“Didn’t I tell you I should stay home in case she tried to call me?” Alan demanded. “I knew my answering machine wasn’t working, and I told you that. But nooo. I just had to go with you.”
“I believe I’ve made up for that,” Todd said, stifling a chuckle. “You can thank me later. Right now, I’d like to introduce you to my sister, Emily Carmichael. I think you two might have been made for each other.” With a mischievous smile, he added, “She doesn’t like sports, either.”
“Emily Carmichael,” Alan repeated, as though committing her name to memory. “Have you really been calling me all day?”
She nodded. “Really, really.”
“You’ll see he gets home, won’t you, Em?” Given that he was already stepping off the porch, Todd’s question was more of a statement.
“Sure thing,” she replied, gazing up into a pair of twinkling blue eyes she never thought she’d see again.
“Not right away, though.” Alan waved goodbye to Todd who was now skipping over to his car, looking extremely pleased with himself. “Okay if I come in?”
“Yes, but hurry up. It’s freezing out here.” She pushed the door open further, motioning him inside.
He hesitated. “I’ll be all over you, Emily. The coat thing won’t even begin to compare with what I’ll do next. Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. Get in here.”
Alan stepped across the threshold. Strolling into the living room, he began with his jacket and didn’t stop until there was nothing left on him but a wristwatch.
“I never wear clothes at home,” he said. “Boxers, sometimes, but not much else.”
Emily’s mouth went dry. “You aren’t at home.”
“Want me to leave?”
“Not a chance.” Now that she had him there, Emily had no intention of ever letting him leave. “I thought you needed contact and liked to kiss a lot.”
“Your point?”
“You aren’t close enough to do either one.”
“That’s your job. Come over here, and I’ll give you all the hugs and kisses you want.”
Her feet remained rooted to the spot as she drank in the sight of him. Sleek muscles, a generous dusting of body hair in all the right places, and a treasure trail leading down to the most beautiful cock imaginable. Stephen’s was big. This one was a work of art.
“I don’t see anything wrong with you. Tell me again why women can’t stand you.”
“I need them too much.”
“Be more specific.”
“I need to be able to touch you, hold you, and dive into you. All the time.”
“You can’t do that all the time,” she scoffed. “I have to go to work.”
“So do I,” he said. “I’m talking about when we’re alone together.” He shook his head sadly. “This is how it usually goes, Emily. Once I get started, you won’t be able to stand it.”
“Try me.”
“Oh, I will—but you might wish I hadn’t.”
“Has anyone ever let you have as much as you want?”
“Nope. They’ve always worn out long before I did.”
“Let’s see what happens, shall we? No promises, no regrets.”
Moving closer, she wound her arms around his neck, her lips seeking his. Never having kissed him before, she was unprepared for how good he would taste or how soft his lips were compared to the rough brush of his beard. His body heat enveloped her, erasing her shivers with soothing warmth. The head of his cock poked her in the stomach, and his body tightened like a coiled spring.
What on earth will happen when he finally snaps?
Wrapping her fingers around his cock, she gave it a firm squeeze. Pre-cum gushed from his slit as she ran her thumb over the head, coating him with his own slick syrup. His cock was thick and hard within her grasp, and he groaned as she slid her fingers to the root.
“Good?”
“Oh, yeah,” he whispered. “Harder. Please.”
Not wanting to hurt him, she coaxed out more fluid, getting her hand as wet as possible before doing as he’d asked. If he’d been telling the truth, she could jack him off three or four times before actually making love with him herself—and he would still have plenty of ammunition left.
Oh, wow…
<
br /> Cupping her hand at the back of his neck, she pulled him down and kissed him, parting her lips as his tongue slipped into her mouth. Sucking his tongue the way she longed to suck his dick, she held his penis in a firm grasp, gliding up and down his shaft.
“I want you to come in my hand, Alan,” she said against his lips. “Do you hear me? Come hard and come fast.”
“Keep talking,” he urged, his voice taut with lust. “Say anything you want. Don’t sugarcoat it.”
Needing no further encouragement, she let loose a shocking barrage of erotic phrases that had him thrusting so hard her fist slammed against his pubic bone with an impact she could actually hear. Within thirty intense seconds, he doubled over like someone had kicked him in the nuts, spewing semen all over her sleeve and letting out a yell that could have easily awakened the dead.
Sex with Chad was downright boring. This was anything but, and so far all Alan had done was kiss her.
“My God, that was intense! You really don’t hold anything back, do you?”
Bending over at the waist, he braced his hands on his knees, panting hard. Not even attempting to speak, he shook his head.
“I’d certainly never mistake that for a cough or a sneeze! Chad would just get a little catch in his breath, and if I blinked, I’d miss it. I mean, like…wow.”
His laughter came out in a breathless gasp. “Glad you liked it. You can do that anytime you like. I wouldn’t dream of stopping you.”
Anytime? What a concept! She’d never been given such freedom before. “Really? Even in a car or a movie theater with popcorn oil all over my hand?”
Alan sighed like he’d died and gone to heaven. “As long as we don’t get arrested.”
Holy shit. She had never, ever, been able to do anything she wanted with a man anytime she liked. “Todd was right when he said we were made for each other. Honestly, if I hadn’t been so depressed the night we met…” Ignoring the semen clinging to her sleeve, she flung her arms around him in a ruthless hug. “I missed you so much! I lost your number and about went nuts trying to find you. I’ve been to every store in town, and I’ve driven past Bennie’s every day, sometimes twice.”
Uninhibited (Unlikely Lovers) Page 6